


Getting Intimate

by 2SpaceGays



Category: Batman (Comics), Batwoman (Comic), DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2SpaceGays/pseuds/2SpaceGays
Summary: Can a missed date leave a relationship better off? Set between Batwoman (2015) 3 and 4. Maggie's POV.





	

Crunching through the snow lining the footpath, feeling more melting in my hair, on the shoulders of my jacket, all I can think about is how frustrated I am. 

Frustrated with Kate, for not showing up, for wasting my time. Time I could have spent looking for those missing kids or at least looking after myself enough to go at it again tomorrow with fresh eyes.

Frustrated with _myself_ for waiting for so long, for believing someone like Kate would even show up in the first place, would even be interested. I offered to let her come up to my apartment after that first date, offered _myself_ , and she didn’t take it. Only kissed my cheek. I should have left it at that instead of giving her the benefit of the doubt. Getting the tickets and trying again had been a mistake. A humiliating one.

I should just go home, but I want to confront Kate, I want her to know how she made me feel when she stood me up, when that girl answered the phone. I want her to know what that does to people.

So I beat the snow off my boots, stomp them on the mat just inside the lobby, and take the elevator up to her apartment. I haven’t been here before. But I’m a detective; I know where she lives. I know enough about her to have been dissuaded from ever asking her out. Now, I can’t think of why I did.

Cold knuckles rapping against her door, I half-expect there to be no answer. Not from _her_ , at least. But the doorman said she was in, let me up here… How stupid does she think I am?

Sure enough, the door cracks opens, though with the hesitation of someone who knows they’re not going to like what’s on the other side. To experienced detectives, perps admit their guilt in that one motion alone. People with nothing to hide don’t open their doors like that, not even after we’ve announced.

It’s Kate on the other side, but the half of her face that she permits me to see is haggard. No makeup, hair askew, dark circles under her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept since we last saw each other. She looks terrible.

It’s not gratifying. I don’t know what to make of it.

Surprise and then guilt register on her face when she recognises me. Her voice is small, “Oh… Maggie.”

Was she expecting someone else? Is she disappointed that it’s me?

I’m thrown, and it takes some of the venom out of my words. But not all of it, “Why did you stand me up?!”

Now she’s defensive, “You could have called.”

She opens the door further and I see that she’s dressed in pyjama bottoms and a wrinkled t-shirt. Either she’s forgotten completely, or something has happened. Maybe both.

She moves away from the door and I follow her in, talking to her back, “I did. And some… _girl_ answered. Is _she_ why I stood outside Ignition for two hours?”

I see her grimace at the accusation. _Good_ , I think. But any satisfaction I could have gotten from seeing her squirm now that she’s been confronted with her own behaviour is tainted by concern.

She sinks down onto the staircase that I can only assume leads up to the main body of her apartment, sinks with the look of someone who just doesn’t have the energy to do anything else, who has so much weight on her shoulders that it’s literally driving her to the ground.

This isn’t what I expected.

“That was my cousin,” she finally admits, holding her knees, not looking at me.

She looks so small and fragile, sitting there, that I don’t have it in me to loom over her. That she hadn’t been with someone else takes some of the steam out of my sails, replaces it with guilt of my own. It doesn’t change the fact that she stood me up, but I’m seeing more and more now that I might not be able to hold that against her like I wanted to. But she still owes me an explanation.

“Then tell me what’s _really_ going on.”

Kate looks pained, drops her head into her hands. Whatever it is, it’s bad.

When her shoulders start shaking, I finally reach out to her. Is she crying?

“Look at me, Kate.”

She tells me she can’t in a voice that cracks and sticks in her throat, but she does anyway, twisting and drawing her hands away from her face to show me the tears streaking down her cheeks.

With those tears, all my anger drains from me. I cup her cheek as gently as I’m able, wipe tenderly under her eyes with my thumb, “Oh, Kate…”

She falls into my lap like Jamie might after a nightmare, arms around my waist, face buried in the breast of my jacket to muffle the sobs that shudder her shoulders. It’s instinctively that my arms go around her, holding her to me, trying to _comfort_ her.

“Shhhh, shhhh,” I coo down at her, sweeping one arm up and down her back in a motion meant to be soothing.

I don’t know what to do for her, what’s within the boundaries of our relationship. It’s been so long since I’ve had an adult cry on me like this I can’t even remember who it was or what I did. So I just do the best I can, letting her take her time and get it all out, even if it ruins my scarf in the process. I can always get it cleaned.

Slowly, her sobs turn to gasps as she tries to calm down, her whole body jolting with them. She starts to pull away from me, but I hold fast, urging her to remain there against my chest, patting her damp hair as her breathing gradually slows and the shuddering subsides.

When the worst of the storm has passed, I strain my neck leaning down to touch my lips to the crown of her head, “’When you’re going through hell, keep going...’”

In reality, I don’t know what she’s going through. But if it’s brought Kate Kane to her knees in her own apartment, hell is probably precisely how it feels. It looks close enough to hell from the outside, too.

I let her pull away and lift her head this time. Her cheeks are puffy, red and splotchy, a few tears still squeezing from her eyes to follow the paths their predecessors have made down her face. But their procession is slowing, if gradually.

“Churchill?” she asks of the quote, seemingly surprised. By it, or the fact that I would say it to her now, I don’t know.

I shake my head and give her a small, reassuring smile, “Just something my father used to say to me.”

It’s a lie, albeit a small one. My father did say it, yes, but I’m sure he wasn’t the first. And he was never saying it to me. According to him, I deserve to stay in my hell. In almost exactly those words.

But if Kate’s smile is anything to go by, she appreciates it. My father has his uses after all.

I’m still shocked by what she says next, “You are beautiful, Maggie.”

I can’t remember the last time someone called me beautiful and meant it as sincerely as Kate does now. I’m wet from the snow, hair curling haphazardly as a result, the minimal makeup I put on surely smudged by now. My clothes are off the rack, the entire outfit likely costing less than Kate’s pyjama pants alone. I don’t think my shabby appearance is what Kate means, though.

And that means even more.

Her hand on my face is clammy and I wait as she shuffles on the stair between my legs, sitting up straighter before tugging me down for a kiss. Our first.

The tears drying on her face and nose chill my own cheeks, her lips salty but determined as they work over mine. For her sake, I make them pliable, but I don’t like this. I don’t like the way she’s pressing herself against my body, ensuring I can feel her breasts, trying to force my mouth open with her tongue, bending my head down to her with her fingers in my hair.

She’s upset. She’s not thinking straight. It’s not what I want from her.

I set my hands on her shoulders and lightly push against her until she gets the message.

There’s shock and hurt in her eyes when she pulls back. They search mine for a second before she turns away, ashamed. Ashamed to have stood me up, to have cried in my lap, to have kissed me like that after all of it.

She stutters out an apology and tries to get up and I see tears coming to her eyes again. I catch her bicep before she can go far, trying to salve the sting she must feel at my rejection with an explanation, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

She sags back to her seat, boneless and defeated, “I’m ruining everything.”

Without knowing what’s happened to her, there isn’t much I can say to that that doesn’t stand a chance of backfiring. Even so, I take her chin in my hand and make her meet my gaze, “So fix it.”

She nods mutely and breaks eye contact with me almost immediately, so even though she’s heard me, I can’t be sure whether she’s heeded the message.

I let her stare at the ground in her self-imposed silence for a few moments more before I push myself up to my own feet and reach down to offer her my hand, too. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Sniffling, Kate lets me haul her upright. Self-consciously, she tucks her hair behind her ear and dares to meet my eyes again, “You could stay.”

I open my mouth, about to reiterate what I _just_ said about not taking advantage of her, but she’s already shaking her head, “Not for that. Just... stay. Please, Maggie.”

I shouldn’t. It’s already late, and I have to wake up early to get to work tomorrow, to get back on the case. I’m not sure what else I can do for Kate tonight, either, or whether it will do her any good.

But those red-rimmed eyes plead with me. They already anticipate my refusal. Her smile is so sad, “Let me fix it.”

I give in.

We watch a movie she lets me choose from one of her accounts, sipping from glasses of water because I decline anything else and picking over a bar of chocolate Kate pulls from a cupboard.

Her apartment is nothing like what I would have expected. There’s no expensive, modern furniture, not even a door to what I think is her bedroom, peeking out from behind two room dividers instead of walls. The kitchen is small, and I can’t picture Kate doing much home cooking in it. There’s more gym equipment than magazines. Still, there’s some hint at the wealth she owns -- the throw Kate’s pulled over our laps made out of some incredibly soft material I can’t even pronounce, and the television is just barely held up by the wall it’s mounted on.

But none of it cheers Kate up as much as having me there seems so.

She leans against my shoulder, fingers playing with mine when she isn’t reaching for another piece of chocolate, colour dancing over her face from the light of the TV.

She laughs at all the comments I make about subpar police work – I should know better than to pick thrillers – and the sound is genuine.

It’s nice. Intimate. And that keeps me there even when the credits start rolling and the clock ticks into the next day.

Kate doesn’t go for the remote until the movie browser come up, an uncomfortably bright white we groan and shield our eyes against. She switches the TV off and we sit in the darkness.

I’m about to suggest that I leave when she starts talking, looking me right in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I stood you up, Mags. I should have called to let you know that I couldn’t make it, I just… It’s been a crazy night.”

The explanation I expect doesn’t come, but while it would be nice to know what was so important that she forgot completely about our date, so terrible that it had her crying in her lap, I don’t pry. If Kate isn’t ready to tell me yet, if she just doesn’t want to breach the calm she’s finally found, I can respect that. Provided it comes out later.

Shame bows her head for a second – because she can’t tell me, or because she’s feeling guilty again. But it’s temporary. She’s brave enough to look at me when she speaks, “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

There’s nothing to do but yield, but I make sure I’m looking after myself when I do, “Make sure it doesn’t.”

The nods of Kate’s head are quick, almost frantic in her effort to assure me. Confidence in my forgiveness growing, in her own ability to fix us, she reaches for my hands, “I’ll pay you for the tickets, too. I’ll get us new ones, front row seats… Whatever you want. Just name it.”

She’s so endearing, even now, that it’s hard not to be sucked in. And I am.

“If you get us front row seats I’ll be paying for a chiropractor for weeks,” I tell her, dry enough to pull a laugh from her, “That was the last show, anyway.”

Kate’s face falls.

“But the Stars’ll be playing at the Kingsdome in a few weeks. You can get us tickets to that.”

With that, she perks up again, guilty smile crawling across her lips, “My family has a box.”

“Of course you do.” I wouldn’t be surprised if they _owned_ the place, at this point. In fact, I’m surprised they _don’t_.

“You sure you wanna see the Stars lose to the Knights in person?”

I snort, “We won’t lose.”

“We’ll see.”

Her eyes drop sheepishly to our entwined fingers, her grip tightening. She’s looks at me from under her lashes, “Can I kiss you now?”

Warmth blooms in my chest as I inhale, stunned that she would _ask_ , wanting more than anything to say _yes_ , but needing another assurance first, “Do you understand why I stopped you earlier?”

“I do,” she hesitates, “I’m sorry for that, too. That wasn’t—That wasn’t how I wanted our first kiss to go. But I can make it up to you.”

“Cocky,” I note, and I think she actually _blushes_. Kate Kane is blushing over something as banal as a kiss.

“Is that a yes?”

It is, but instead of telling her, I close the distance between us and take command myself. It’s sweet, soft, lacking all the desperation and urgency of that first one. I don’t feel like Kate’s trying to escape from her own world and lose herself in me. I don’t even get a brush of tongue.

But it’s good. It’s _really_ good.

By the time we pull away, we’re both a little breathless, almost lightheaded.

Kate tucks her hair behind her ear and tries to suppress her smile, “Better?”

“Much better.”

Now she grins, almost _smug,_ “They say you need more than one try to _really_ gauge someone’s skill.”

This time, I let her kiss me. And she’s _right,_ because it’s even better than the first.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this on my desktop for months now, adding bits now and again. My aim was to fill in the gap between Kate and Maggie's first kiss in Batwoman #3 and their first time making love together in Batwoman #4. It didn't quite get there, but I'm happy with how it ended regardless. And, for the pervs out there, I might come back and bring them home, so to speak ;), some other time.


End file.
